


high expectations

by orphan_account



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Daddy Issues, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legacy: it runs in his veins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	high expectations

.

* * *

high expectations:

_the weight of the world_

_the hope of the future_

_such heavy, lovely things_

_run in our blood_

* * *

 

 

“You wanted to see me, father?”

 

A young man stepped into a dimly lit library. It was an impersonal sort of library, neither cozy nor comfortable, with high-vaulted ceilings and tall windows that stretched from roof to floor. The shelves were equally tall, filled with books that the young man had never read, but that his father surely had.

 

The young man tried again. “Father?”

 

The only light came from the moonlight outside and an old-fashioned desk lamp. Still, the young man’s eyes were keen enough to make out a stocky figure seated in an armchair. The figure rose and stepped closer to the light, revealing an aged face – a scarred face – with eyes that, perhaps once, had been handsome.

 

“Damian,” the aged man said. He smiled, and while he was not good at smiling, there was warmth in his gaze nonetheless.

 

“Father.”

 

Eighteen-years-old, standing at 6-foot-2, Damian was hardly recognizable from the boy that filled picture frames in the parlor. His round cheeks were now angled, his muscles toned, his skin darkened so that his Arab ancestry was much more obvious. Everything about him screamed discipline and maturity, from his dark combed hair to his three-piece Versace suit.

 

It was as if eight years had changed everything. Where was the child who had once filled every bathtub in the manor with Lucky Charms, because he’d been “bored”? Where was the boy who had kept a _cow_ as a pet, who had trained the dog to chase police officers instead of squirrels? That child had been loud and unruly. This Young Man was quiet and reserved.

 

Standing there, it was hard for Bruce Wayne not to see himself reflected in his son.  

 

“Father, why did you ask to see me?”

 

“I have something for you.”

 

 “And?”

 

“Would you like it now? Or when we return this evening?”

 

“Now.”

 

“It is not something to take lightly, Damian.”

 

“I am aware, Father.”

 

“The responsibility –“

 

“I will not disappoint you. I’m not Grayson or Todd,” Damian said. And with a hint of disgust: “I am certainly not _Drake_.”

 

A pause. Footsteps on the stairwell. Laughter from the hallway, as Damian’s three older “brothers” returned home from the evening’s press conference. Apparently, it had gone well. That was a surprise. Jason had a knack for ruining any good press Wayne Industries managed to attain.

 

A current ran between father and son, Bruce and Damian, neither of whom had taken their eyes off one another. The current was not a challenge; it was a curiosity.

 

“Have you talked to your brothers lately, Damian?”

 

“No. Grayson is with his new fiancée. I make a conscious decision not to talk with Todd or Drake.”

 

“And who _do_ you talk to?”

 

Damian’s fingers fiddled with a piece of string in his pocket. “I sometimes converse with the blonde one. Stephanie.”

 

“Do you like her?”

 

 _Now_ the current was a challenge.

 

“No. She’s slow and cumbersome and doesn’t understand anything important.”

 

“Mm.”

 

Silence. _Tick-tock_ from the library grandfather clock.

 

And still, the push of that current. Father to son, son to father.

 

Damian stifled a groan. “Yes, I like her. But I would never pursue her. She’s practically an old maid, and her optimism is insufferable.” These were all blatant lies. She was the company’s newest intern, the League’s bravest warrior, and the light of Damian’s life.

 

“She’s a good person. That’s more rare than you might think, son.”

 

“She’ll get in my way. I will not let you down, Father.”

 

Damian’s hands squeezed into fists. His father was not having the reaction he wanted. Bruce looked old and tired and almost _saddened_ , as if every one of Damian’s answers were further proof of a misguided generation. Quiet rage pooled in the pit of Damian’s stomach, and yet … and yet. His father was the world.

 

“Follow me,” Bruce said. And Damian did.

 

They headed up a set of stairs into a secluded office with only a few mismatched items – a telephone, an oak desk, an empty photo frame and a pair of Doc Martins on the floor. Damian had never been in this office before, and assumed it was mainly kept for the sake of appearances. Sometimes gala guests would get themselves lost during parties, and it was always a good idea to have a couple rooms they could stumble into without causing too much trouble.

 

“I used to study in here,” Bruce explained. He walked behind the desk and opened a drawer. “Physics and law. Two of my favorite courses.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“Do you remember receiving that physics award at Gotham Academy? You were 14.”

 

“Father …”

 

Bruce removed a small, silver box from the inside of the drawer. He set it on the desk’s surface and looked at Damian. “I asked you about your brothers because you are going to need friends. I asked you about Stephanie because you can’t afford distractions. I asked you about physics because you need to be sharp.”

 

Damian stiffened, but said nothing.

 

“I think it’s time you received this. You’ve earned it, Damian. You have an opportunity to finish what I started.”

 

An aching _thud, thud, thud_ had started within Damian’s ribcage. It was happening. It was happening right _now_. Now, of all times? It was happening _quickly_.

 

“Dick is skilled but fears commitment,” Bruce continued. “Jason – dedicated but unsustainable. Tim … a genius but preoccupied. They are equally deserving of this, Damian, but I want it for you.”

 

Damian wasn’t breathing properly. This … this was the moon and the sun and the stars. This was Bruce’s approval. Damian stared at the tiny silver box and imagined the item within, the sharp-edged Batarang, the item that signified everything. If Bruce gave him this, he gave him everything. The estate, the company, the _mantle_ would be inherited by Damian in the days to come.

 

It was time. Finally.

 

Damian would be Batman.

 

He stepped forward, almost _timid_ for the first time in his life. He gripped the silver box in both hands, feeling the object within shift with the change in gravity.

 

He started at one end of the wrapping paper, gently peeling it apart until he was tearing, and then ripping, and then tossing the paper away until the entire box was bare and he could open the top and peer inside to reveal …

 

A pen. A fountain pen.

 

It was dark red with gold lettering, polished to a shine. Written on its surface, in a professional sans serif, were the words “Cambridge University.”

 

All Damian could do was stare.

 

“You were accepted a month ago,” Bruce explained. “You will be double-majoring in Business and Law.”

 

 

“I attended Cambridge myself when I was your age, but dropped out before I could finish. I don’t want to same for you, Damian. You have the ability to learn more than I ever did in my studies. With technology as we now understand it –“

 

“Europe?” Damian’s throat almost caught.

 

“Yes. England.”

 

England. Miles away from the manor, miles away from the city, miles away from home. Days bent over books. Unfamiliar rooftops and people with funny accents. Constantly looming storm clouds and too many boy bands. A world without his brothers and a world without his father. England.

 

“I want you to know how important this is,” Bruce said, taking the fountain pen from the silver box and placing it in Damian’s breast pocket. “When you come back home, then you will be ready. You’ll do more than I ever could.”

 

Damian thought of arguing. Years ago, he might have. He would have lashed out at his father, storming to the kitchen and throwing pots and pans. He would have made vicious threats. He would have done anything to assure that his position – his _post_ – was here in Gotham. This was where he belonged, where the air smelled of hot tar and the nights were alive with sirens and music.

 

But then he looked at his father, and Bruce was gazing upon him with affection. _Affection._ Only a select few earned that gaze.

 

“Do you understand, Damian? How important this is? For you to be ready?”

 

Damian imagined saying goodbye to his family for four years. Leaving Stephanie at the airport, her hair tangled and falling in her face. No more of her kisses. No more of her gentle laughter and the way it poured into his bones. No more late nights at the doughnut café or quick-witted arguments with Todd and Drake. No more midnight runs with Grayson, the moon as their guide, kicking up dust with their boots.

 

Damian imagined holding that Batarang, donning the cape and cowl, looking into the mirror and seeing his father’s son.

 

“Damian?”

 

“Yes, Father?”

 

A pause. “I am proud of you, son.”

 

“Thank you, Father.”

 

And turning away from Bruce, walking towards the staircase, stepping down down down to join his brothers in the foyer, Damian made his declaration:

 

“I will not let you down.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting to get back into writing the Batfam again, and I wanted a symbolic piece about Bruce and Damian to ease me back in. I realize not everything may have been in-character. But I hope I created the mood of tense affection that is so pivotal between these two dorks. Anyway, please let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading!


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